Disputable Hierarchy
by Big Sister Kitty
Summary: FE7, Guy x Priscilla. Peerage be damned-war and politics leave little room for the careful stability of a society. Amid bold choices and dissension in all ranks, change is imminent, and a handful of people will prove capable of defining it. [Discontinued]
1. Hapless Love In Nomadic Territory

**Disputable Hierarchy**

Finally, a story idea for a Guy x Priscilla fic! I'm so happy! There aren't many Guy x Priscilla fics out there, in fact, the only one I know of so far is _The Princess and the Mercenary_ by **KyonxHaruhi**.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Fire Emblem_.

**Hapless Love in Nomadic Territory**

It's already been a year since the defeat of Nergal, and Guy, now a Swordmaster, treaded on the familiar plains of Sacae in the hopes of visiting his mother. He had trained himself by working as a mercenary, and after this visit he looked forward to fulfilling his promise to his old master Karel. In five months they will finally do battle, and frankly, he wasn't sure if he will survive such an encounter. Perhaps this was a visit to say goodbye, but maybe he will defeat the Saint of Swords and gain a name for himself as well.

Small round huts slowly appeared in the distance. A Kutolah camp. A lone woman can be seen weaving outside of her hut. She is clad in the blue nomadic costume of the Sacaens, her long green hair tied up neatly in a graceful pigtail. She is petite, with soft features, and her countenance exudes one of rustic elegance. She is his mother.

She stared into the distance, squinting a little from the fiery heat. When she spotted her beloved son, finally coming home, she put down her weaving, dusted herself, and stood up. Her son has come home.

"My son! How fare you these years?"

.oOo.

The town is a busy place. People of different races gather here to stock up for travel or to sell their goods. Carriages and wagon wheels groan on the dusty earth, whispering stories of their travels with every creak and grunt of their turning. A smart pair of boots, worn with travel and treading at an even pace, also tells a story. Its owner is a young man in his twenties, head framed with soft brown hair, but his facial features could hardly be described, as he walks among the bustling crowd. You _look_ at a sea of faces, but you cannot truly _see_ them.

He smoothed an obscure wrinkle in his green mantle and turned his head about, his eyes scanning signs hung lazily over doorways of shops in that town of Bulgar, the commercial center of Sacae. His neck was sore from the search, and the sunbeams glared mercilessly into his eyes, but he persisted on finding his destination.

Feeling faint from the afternoon heat, he stopped to lean on a wall, and collected himself before proceeding. From the corner of his eye, he saw a sign hung above an old door on the wall where he was leaning on. Smiling, he opened it.

The inside could be clean, were it not for the sweaty smells of exhausted travelers seated on benches and lined up before a desk. He walked to the line, and after twenty thick-aired minutes, finally got his turn. A young man not much older than himself was seated behind the desk.

He wordlessly placed a small bag with a considerable amount of gold and turned for the door. "I will be staying at the local inn for three days. Make sure he sees me on the morn of the third."

The clerk nodded affirmatively. "Of course, but might I ask you of your name and profession?"

The young man stopped and turned around. "My name is of no relevance, as is my profession." The door closed behind him.

.oOo.

"A—a _wife?_" Beads of sweat formed on Guy's brow, and he couldn't help but adjust his collar nervously.

"Why, yes," his mother replied, smiling in amusement. "You are certainly old enough, my son. I had thought you would have found one by now."

"Well, er," he began, feeling himself sweat profusely. "I—ah—I _did_ meet someone, but—"

She stood up. "So you did, now? That is wonderful! Where is she?"

"Well, you see, she's—she's not here right now. She's somewhere far away and…"

"Not another word!" his mother interrupted gladly. "You shouldn't be so nervous in proposing to her! Now be a man like your father and don't come back until you marry her! Good luck, son!" And with that, she shoved the hapless man out the hut.

.oOo.

After three days, Guy finally reached Bulgar, which was a fair mile away from the Kutolah's camping grounds. He entered through a battered door in a building near the heart of the town.

"Good morning Guy," the clerk greeted him cheerfully. "Are you ready for your next assignment?"

Guy sat down on a bench and lazily rubbed his throbbing forehead. The Sacaen heat doesn't do well for travelers. "Who is my employer?"

The clerk shuffled through some parchments and pulled a small piece out. "He didn't leave a name, or any other personal information. I only know that he is in his early twenties, with brown hair and a greenish outfit. He wants to see you at the local inn. And," he brought out the bag of coins, "he paid much for your services."

Guy nodded. "I see." The door shut behind him.

.oOo.

The green-clad gentleman sat quietly on a chair, every so often looking out the window at the hustle and bustle of busy merchants and buyers. He looked at a small shelf of books and parchments, left for the enjoyment of the inn's customers.

_The Chronology of the Scouring._

The Scouring. That was what led him to live this life. He wondered if he'll ever live life differently.

"I 'eard that Bern and Etruria 'ave gone to war," the innkeeper whispered to a young customer.

"For what reason?" the young visitor's eyes were agleam with curiosity.

"Aye, it'd be for that Tactician that 'ad led Lord Eliwood's army."

"But why?"

"The Tactician is said to be one of skilled mind. Per'aps this is the reason why people flock to Sacae these days—to avoid that war."

The green stranger looked away in disgust. The last one was not enough? They have to sacrifice more lives?

A soft jingling. It was the old bell that hung above the doorway to signal the comings and goings of men folk. A robust young man entered, all clad in nomadic blue, hair olive green and braided. He frowned, a mix of both curiosity and question.

The one wearing green stood, and without another moment of rational contemplation, bolted up the stairs.

.oOo.

Guy turned his head at the noise and caught a glimpse of green flutter around the staircase. He lost no time.

"Hey! Hey, you!" He rushed up the first flight. That man was fast. The runaway disappeared around a corner. Guy follows in hot pursuit.

The stranger dashed past several of the inn's clientele, many of whom froze in shock and curiosity. A woman's screams reached the streets.

.oOo.

Panic ensued in the entire lane. Some Sacaens barged through the inn door, much to the surprise of the old innkeeper, and demanded the cause of the disturbance. By now, many a passerby had flocked to the entrance.

"Upstairs!" a Sacaen shouted, and his comrades followed him.

.oOo.

The youth stopp[ed. A dead end.

"Stop! Stop, I say!" the nomad's voice sounded through the corridor.

He spotted a window leading to the narrow space behind the inn.

.oOo.

"Come back here—hey!" Guy yelled in surprise as the runaway leapt through the window. There was no time for hesitation.

"I'm going to regret this…" He climbed onto the windowsill and sprung from the inn.

.oOo.

The cloaked stranger felt the wind blow piercingly in his face as he dropped from the three-storey structure. He landed on the ground in a kneeling position, pain sharply cutting though his feet, despite the boot's protection.

He ignored the pain and continued running.

.oOo.

Guy was more fortunate to have landed on a pile of sacks containing chicken feed, albeit in a rather awkward position. He got back on his feet and ran to catch up with that strangely familiar youth.

.oOo.

The mysterious young man gasped with exhaustion and looked behind him. A commotion was gathering at the inn, and the majority of Bulgar was there. No one will follow him at this point. He quickly turned and disappeared into the shadows of an alley.

He finally stopped, collapsed on his knees, and sighed with relief.

"I _knew_ I'd find you here." Guy was standing up on a low roof that walled one side of the alley. The youth silently cursed at the Sacaen's tracking abilities, remembering an old friend's words:

"…_For a Sacaen, men are easier to track than rabbits."_

Guy jumped down from the roof and helped him to his feet. "It's been some time, hasn't it, Mark?"

"Not another word."

"So you _do _talk!"

"Now is neither the time nor the place!" Mark snapped. "We must leave! _Now!_"

.oOo.

A young girl sat by her windowsill. Her bosom heaved a sigh.

Now what would this girl be dreaming of? Like any princess, she must dream of her prince. Tall, dashing, a brilliant combatant—but such is not the case for her. Her recollections are of a young man, nomadic by blood and awkward by nature. He is rather clumsy, hopeless with a bow and useless with a horse, despite his ancestry, but he was true and brave and kind.

.oOo.

"Lord Eliwood." Ninian moved towards her husband, seemingly floating. Eliwood himself was seated on a desk, poring over some papers, possibly regarding matters of the court.

"Good afternoon, Ninian," he greeted her warmly, but without looking up. "I am sorry, but I have matters concerning the gravest of importance, the significance of which has entailed Hector to visit in two days' time."

"But for what?"

"A war, I'm afraid. Bern and Etruria—they're after Mark. This is bad. Mark himself has vanished, and it is unlikely that he will come out, in spite of his kindness towards others."

"What will come of the war, then?" She was almost afraid to find out.

Eliwood sighed. "That is what Hector and I will discuss in two days. For now, we can only pray that nothing more happens."

.oOo.

She had been partnered to Guy for some time during their campaign against Nergal. He was quite a noble and pleasant fellow, but he was terribly hopeless with the horses. She had once offered her mare, a lovely brown palfrey from the Count Caerleon's stables, to teach him to ride. He was reluctant at first, sweating more than she thought any human was capable of, but he conceded to attempt it.

"See here. This is the saddle, and you climb up on through here, and, um…"

Guy nodded gravely, gulped, and in one swift motion, landed on the horse in such a way that when he placed one foot on the stirrup, he had sharply hurled the rest of his mass onto the mare. The creature gave out a loud neigh, a mix of horror and anger at this impetuous bumpkin who had dared to ride on its noble back. She instantly reared, throwing the then Myrmidon onto the ground and nearly trampled him, had it not been for her lady's intervention.

Guy was flat on his back, which was hurting in places, but nonetheless tried to scramble away from Priscilla's terrified steed. Once the mare had calmed down, she had bent over him, her Mend staff in hand. She seemed both worried and amused.

"Guy, are you—?"

"I am a Sacaen, and I am not afraid of pa—" He groaned on the last part.

"From now on I will never teach you the art of riding," she said solemnly, sincerely afraid for his well-being.

He sat up, though it must have been painful. "Don't worry—this is nothing! I can defend you without having to ride a horse! Mark my words!" Despite the pain, he was smiling.

.oOo.

"How have things been going on for me? I don't know, but shouldn't I ask you the same question?" They were both far away from Bulgar by now, out in the wide and open plains.

"I mean, what was the idea running away at the sight of me? Are you afraid?"

Mark sighed. "The only thing I'm afraid of is having my existence discovered."

"Then why did you run?"

"Knowing your history of brash actions, I'd say you'd no sooner blurt out my identity to the whole of Sacae."

"Hey!"

Mark turned away. "But since you are now my bodyguard, I suggest you instill in yourself the proper respect for your employer."

"Dare you insult a Sacaen?" Guy countered, peeved.

"I have no intention of doing so."

"All right, fine. So where are we going?"

Mark stared plaintively into the distance. "We are bound for…no, not now. We must leave for Lycia."

.oOo.

The disorder in Bulgar finally subsided. Only a few members of a Kutolah mercenary unit remained near the inn, conversing with their leader.

"What was this all about?" an enigmatic youth with sharp features asked.

A Nomad stepped forward. "From what we were able to gather, it seems that one of our men was chasing down an individual—some boy not much older than he is."

The leader's expression did not change. "And who is he?"

"It is Guy, Lord Rath."

"What has this person done to have Guy give chase?"

"It remains unconfirmed, Sir. Even Guy himself has disappeared."

"What did he come for?"

"We were told that he was to look for a young man as a paid bodyguard."

Rath nodded. "I see."

"Should we search for him?"

Rath shook his head. "No."

.oOo.

"Say Mark, what are you going to do in Lycia anyway? Visit the Marquess Pherae?"

Mark hesitated for a moment. "I have heard that there is a war between Bern and Etruria. I…would like to help in some way."

"I don't think you'd want to go to Lycia. There are people who would have recognized you."

Mark lowered his head, bangs shadowing his eyes. "I don't, but something must be done."

"So how long am I to be in your service?"

"Five months."

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Guy stopped and looked behind him at the vast plains of Sacae, growing darker and by the coming of night. Soon, there would be a bright moon, but, he thought, it wouldn't be as bright as she was. He sighed. Perhaps it was time to let go. She's happier with a wealthy man of title.

Mark's voice broke the silence. "Do you still like her?"

"_What?_" Guy was taken aback.

Mark continued, "If you truly did love her, there should be no stopping you, despite your lack of peerage."

Guy sighed. "You know she'd be happier with someone else other than a mere mercenary."

"Are you sure that will make her happy?"

"Well, I—what do you gain by asking me this anyway?" he demanded.

"You still have a chance for love. Do not waste it."

Guy smiled. "I didn't know that you were capable of the matters of the heart. Tell me, is it because you have your own problems?" He grinned cheekily, happy to recover his machismo.

Mark didn't answer.

"You know, I don't believe you originally wanted to go to Lycia. What's your _real_ reason for visiting Sacae, anyway?"

Still, Mark said nothing. Guy grew tired. "At least let's set up camp."

"As you wish."

"You're annoying, you know that?"

"Mmf. Of course." It was deadpan.

"Uh, sure."

.oOo.

Guy lay down on his sleeping mat, his arms folded backward to rest his head. Mark was sleeping on the other side of the campfire, lying on his side.

He watched the sky for some time. A ray of light streaked across the heavens.

"Priscilla."

.oOo.

Mark's eyes had remained open, dark and pensive. In the morning he would be leaving the magical nights of camping in the plains. He would be leaving Sacae, a place he had intended to go had it not been for the war. A friendly voice echoed in his head, meshed in between the images in his memories.

_I found you lying in the plains._

_It's too dangerous—get behind me!_

_Hahaha! So you _do_ talk!_

_Tell me, do you miss your family?_

_Thank you, Mark. I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for your help._

_I'm confident that we'll see each other again._

He finally closed his eyes.

.oOo.

I wonder if I could get Karel to kill him off…


	2. A Night of Foreboding

I'm confused. In the last part of the game, Guy's epilogue had stated that he was called the "Saint of Swords", but Karel's epilogue heading read, "Karel: Saint of Swords", though the epilogue didn't mention that that was his new title. So which one is the Saint of Swords? If you ask me, that's pretty sloppy of the translators.:/ Well, I've decided to use it on Guy instead.

By the way: THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS!

Also, Mark is no Gary-Stu, (at least, I hope not) just in case you were thinking of it that way. From what I was able to gather, the Tactician of _Fire Emblem 7_ seems somewhat like a mysterious, and yet kind and caring individual, so that is how I will portray him.

This whole story is dedicated to my new friend, **KyonxHaruhi**!:)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Fire Emblem_.

**A Night of Foreboding**

"_Hiya!_"

Mark slowly awoke to the glaring sun and to Guy's persistently annoying cries. He rubbed at his eyes, and made out the Swordmaster mauling a nearby tree. He sighed. What was all this for? Through the Sacaen plains and the Bern Mountains, the man had felled nearly every tree that stood in their path.

"Good morning, Mark!" Guy greeted him cheerfully. "Let's get going! There's an Arena twenty miles from here."

"Of course," Mark replied drowsily as he put on his mantle, which had served as his blanket the night before.

"I'll be fighting Master Karel in four months, so I need to train hard!"

So that is the reason for his enthusiasm to attempt a war with Mother Nature.

"Say Mark, I hope you're all right with this. I mean, you know, waiting for me to train all this time." Guy looked into his bag of money and whistled. "You paid me quite a sum there, are you sure you only need me for five months?"

Mark nodded. "Keep them. I have enough money to get by."

"But where did you get all this gold from?"

"Lord Eliwood insisted that I keep my pay from our last battle."

"If you say so." Guy sheathed his sword and started down the forest path, whistling a tune along the way. Mark lagged behind, still sleepy.

"Hey!" Mark's awareness was sufficiently awakened by Guy's voice. He saw a man with light brown hair holding a knife to Guy's throat. He couldn't see the attacker's face, but it doesn't seem like he knows of Mark's presence. He quietly bent down to pick up a stone and was about to throw it when a shadow cast over the ground. He looked behind him, only to find an arrow pointed at his face.

"Hello, Mark!" It was Wil. He returned his arrow to its quiver and helped him up. A moment later, Matthew and Guy joined them.

.oOo.

"Sorry we did that, but Matthew insisted that we give you guys a good scare," Wil explained, as they sat and talked inside a tavern. "After all, what are friends for?" He grinned.

"So how are you doing?" Matthew cheerfully inquired.

"Great! Soon I can even match the best of them all—Master Karel!"

"That's good," Matthew replied, grinning. "Because you still owe me four favors."

"_What?_" Guy fell off his seat, inciting the laughter of his friends.

Matthew offered Guy his hand, but seemed too absorbed in laughter to pull him up. Guy declined with a wave and returned to his seat.

"Grr, I do _not_ owe you any more favors! It's all on the oath paper!"

"Calm down, Guy," Wil managed to say, though he was still holding his aching side. "It's just a joke. Say," he turned to Mark. "How are you doing lately? No one has heard from you since Athos died."

Mark shook his head. "The less people who know of my whereabouts, the better."

"What about you, Wil? We heard that Lady Lyndis abdicated the throne of Caelin after the Marquess's death. Didn't you use to work there?" Guy asked.

Wil nodded. "Yeah, but now I'm the commander of Ostia's Archer division."

"Speaking of Ostia…" Matthew leaned over the table. "We came here on a mission."

.oOo.

"Nino! Child, wake up!" An old woman shook the girl's shoulder until her head lifted from the book that she had used as a pillow. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the candlelight glowing against the night sky framed by the window.

"_Mmn_—ah!" She immediately sat up straight. "I—I'm sorry Auntie! I must've slept while I was studying and I—"

"Enough of that now, Child, and go to bed."

"All right. Good night, Auntie." She closed her book and walked out of the room.

_Such a nice girl…_ She shook her head fondly. A year earlier, the new Marquess Pherae had sent Nino for her to look after, and she had obliged, since she lived alone. Nino was a little difficult to deal with, especially since she wasn't able to read in all of her fourteen years until the old woman had taken it upon herself to teach her. Still, that girl was a fast learner and a dear companion.

She bent over the table to close the shutters, for the night wind was chilly. The breeze flew in and blew out the candle.

"A bad omen." She stared out at the starless sky for some time.

.oOo.

"_Listen." Matthew sat down after closing every window in their room. They had all agreed to spend the night together at a local inn, since Matthew had insisted that they stay together._

"_Now Mark," he began. "You know that there is an ongoing war between Bern and Etruria, right?"_

_Mark nodded grimly._

"_We," Matthew looked at Wil and continued, "we were sent by Lord Hector to come and look for you. It's dangerous for you to go wandering by yourself in these times." He looked at Guy. "Bodyguard, or no bodyguard."_

"_And what does the Marquess Ostia plan to do with me?"_

_Matthew went on, "The war between Bern and Etruria is about which country gets to keep you, isn't it?"_

"_I think."_

"_But…" Matthew double-checked his surroundings, indicating that everyone in the room should keep quiet about what they were going to hear. "The spies from Ostia had uncovered something. A disturbing fact of this war is the fight to gain Mark's support, correct?"_

_Everyone nodded._

_Matthew continued, "But consider this: they _need_ Mark's skills. Prior to the current war was a time of peace, and Bern and Etruria were on good terms with each other. Don't you find it suspicious that all of a sudden a war would erupt over him?"_

"_But," Wil interrupted. "Wouldn't everyone have realized that by now?"_

"_They should," Matthew replied. "But in this time of war no one would really want to be bothered with that. Most people just want to survive."_

"_Then what is the true reason for this war?" Mark asked._

"_And that would be the point," Matthew stated. "Power, we believe, is the motive. Etruria is the most civilized nation and Bern is the most powerful in terms of military strength. For several months, our spy unit has been investigating both nations, and we have concluded that there's something of a conspiracy going on. The identity of the persons involved has yet to be confirmed, but we believe King Desmond is a key player."_

_Mark looked away in disgust._ "_So what you are saying is, they have started a war to prepare for another?"_

_Matthew gave an affirming nod. "And Lord Hector wants to hide you for the moment, and if need be," he looked at Wil, not quite sure how to put it._ "_We might need your skills again."_

A deep fog lifted, and Mark found himself staring at the ceiling, illuminated only by the cold moonlight. He looked around him, and saw that his roommates were sleeping peacefully. He pushed aside his blanket and walked to the window. The moon, now so stony and cruel in contrast to the loving specter of Sacae, seemed to mock his predicament.

_Why bother? Hide yourself or kill yourself. Either way, you won't win_, it appeared to say.

He shivered and went back to bed.

.oOo.

"Etruria is no longer as safe as it once was," the Count of Caerleon sighed to his wife. "I am not certain that the Lycian League is strong enough to hold off the coming hostilities from both our side and that of Bern's."

"But what of us now? And what of our daughter?" his wife asked anxiously.

"We must send her someplace else for the time being, until this war dies out—hopefully." The Marquess stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"The troops from Bern will most likely be coming in though our territories before long. We will have to defend our lands. We cannot leave."

"Then," the Marquioness clasped her hands in despair, "we have to do what we have to do."

The Marquess nodded. "Sacae seems safe, and there are plenty of mercenaries to hire. I have heard that the people there are an honorable lot. Perhaps…"

"Then she will leave as soon as possible," his wife replied with quivering resolution.

.oOo.

"How long?" A tall, muscular man was silhouetted against the lavish tapestry that adorned the castle wall.

"Long enough." The deep voice was that of a man of medium height, clad in dark blue armor that was graced with a heavy blue cape.

The tall one turned to the nearby window and watched the sky flash at intervals. A drop of water delicately tapped the glass and slid down. Soon more followed, and a low rumble could be heard in the distance.

He turned away.

"My Lord," the armored one spoke. "We have reports that he is currently in Lycia."

The tall one didn't reply.

"And," he continued, "he merely has the protection of a hired mercenary."

The tall man answered this with a nod. "Send him here."

The armored Knight bowed. "At once, milord." He turned to look behind him. "Master Karel!"

A lean figure stepped in from the shadows.

The Knight stood up, and for a fleeting moment lightning flashed, revealing a slash mark on his left eye. "You will be hunting down a Tactician. You may kill his guard, but keep him alive."

Karel cocked his head lazily. "And who is his guard?"

"A mercenary from Sacae."

"I have no time to waste on underlings." Karel turned and headed for the door.

"Wait." It was the tall man.

Karel stopped and looked behind him.

The tall man added, "This is no ordinary mercenary. He is called the Saint of Swords."

Another flash revealed Karel's smirk. "All shall fall before my blade." He disappeared into the darkness of the doorway.

The Knight turned to look at his master. "He is an eager one."

"Indeed." The tall one narrowed his eyes.

A clap of thunder roared over the sweeping valley in which the castle stood.

.oOo.

The heavy moat lifted behind Karel. He closed his eyes and looked up, feeling the cool drops slide down his face. He started down the muddy path.

_The Saint of Swords…_ He smiled and stared upwards.

If one would listen closely enough, one can hear a bloodcurdling laughter drowned out by the rain and thunder.

.oOo.

Ah yes, I'm in a somber mood when I wrote this. My inspiration was fueled by my listening to some of the more gloomy theme songs of _Gundam SEED_ and _Gundam SEED Destiny_. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it.


	3. Onward Backwards

Reviewers must get cookies! (_hands homemade cookies out_) Enjoy them, since I made Guy bake them.♪

**Disclaimer:** _Fire Emblem_ is not mine, people!

**Onward Backwards**

The next morning was wonderfully cool and mellowed with just enough sunshine. The aftermath of last night's rain had brought about a misty atmosphere, with the blending of the trees and houses into the light hues of dawn. The chirping of birds was the first to break the silence, but Nino didn't care. Nothing can get her out of bed. No kind of noise can possibly get her to so much as wriggle her from it.

"Come on! I want to practice in the Arena before we go!" And yet by some pure luck that voice managed to abruptly open her eyes.

"All right, all right." She sat up and ran to her window. The voices breaking the morning tranquil were coming from somewhere at the far left of her house, possibly near the local inn. She immediately ran downstairs to bathe and get changed.

.oOo.

"Where _are_ they?" Rebecca looked at her surroundings worriedly. She and Lowen were both leaving behind a small sleepy village.

"What do you think held them up?" She patted Lowen's horse. "Your horse is getting tired of wandering around and carrying us both all the time."

Lowen smiled. "We'll find them, and then our faithful steed can rest."

Rebecca sighed. "All right."

.oOo.

"Good morning Nino!" Colin, a small boy of five years, greeted her as she stepped out of her house.

"Wanna play with us?" the boy's little sister of three asked hopefully.

Nino smiled and bent down to her. "I'm sorry May, but I have to go look for someone."

"Aw." May clutched at her rag doll. "Lily misses playing with you."

Nino stood up. "I'll play with you and Lily when I get back, okay?"

May smiled. "Okay!"

"'Bye, Nino!" May and her brother waved her off. May turned to her brother.

"Colin…"

"Yeah?"

"Why is Nino going to that scary place?"

.oOo.

"And do you remember the time when Rebecca gave me a sharp kick in the stomach? I'm still feeling it whenever I sit down to eat!" Wil laughed heartily at this as he continued to catch up, as he said, with Mark and Guy.

"And that time when _Guy_ tried a surprise attack on _me_ while I was sleeping, right after _I_ gave _him_ a night attack!" Matthew added with a chuckle.

"Ha ha ha!" Even Mark was joining in, much to the displeasure of Guy.

"Why don't we settle our sword fighting skills in the Arena then?" Guy challenged, throwing a glance at Matthew.

Matthew shook his head. "No way. Thieves don't get into brawls."

"_Ha!_ You're just scared I'd beat you!"

Matthew and Wil sighed. "Guy, you know that doesn't work anymore," they chorused wearily.

"But it would do well to practice," Mark pointed out. "One must be prepared at all times."

"W—wait, you're not saying…" Matthew started.

"I mean," Mark continued. "There might be some dangers lurking ahead. You did say there was a war, correct?"

Matthew nodded slowly.

"That's why you're the Tactician." Wil shrugged. "Besides, we ran out of money on our way here anyway."

"Wil!" Matthew contested.

"Come on! Those bandits would have done us in!"

"Bandits? What bandits?" Guy asked.

"The ones that attacked us on our way here. Their leader was really creepy, some guy with long hair and a sword, but it was late at night so we didn't get a good look at him," Wil explained.

"He didn't seem to want our money though," Matthew surmised.

"My friend here accepts the challenge," Mark's voice cut his thoughts short. He gulped as he realized what was going on—Mark was pointing at him.

"Uh, maybe Guy should go first," he said nervously.

"Relax. You're just going to fight against a Mage. No worries," Guy offered consolingly.

"B—but…"

"Don't _worry!_" His three friends grinned as they all pushed him into the ring, leaving him alone on the battleground.

"You sure he'll be fine?" Wil asked Mark as they headed over to their seats.

"I'm sure."

"B—but he's weak against Magic types!" Guy protested.

"Dear Saint Elimine! Look!" Guy and Mark followed Wil's gaze and simultaneously dropped their jaws.

.oOo.

"Here's your sword," a burly man grunted as he handed an Iron Sword to Matthew.

"Relax," he told himself. "You can do this," he said without conviction. He took a deep breath and looked at his rather short opponent standing in the distance, probably to gain an advantage with his Fire Tome.

_Here goes. _He charged at his opponent.

"Yah!"

"_Matthew?_" He stopped at the voice. The Mage in front of him came closer.

He gasped. "_Nino?_"

Nino immediately raised her right hand. "I surrender."

.oOo.

Castle Caerleon contained numerous halls, corridors, and rooms, each with their own special functions, and not too many were hidden for emergency or covert uses. In one such chamber were shelves of scrolls and maps. Several compasses and other devices cluttered a side desk, and old books and Tomes lay scattered among them. At the center of the room was a large table covered in a mess of maps, scrolls, and a solitary candlestick. There were two torch stands near the doorway to provide sufficient light in the absence of windows, but today they were not lighted. The only living soul hidden among the archives was the Marquess, busy writing letters to the light of the candlestick. One was for the request of mercenaries, and the other—the one he was in the progress of writing at the moment—a letter to a particular neighboring Marquess. It goes as follows:

_To Lord Nicar, Count of Reglay._

_Greetings and salutations in the blessed name of Elimine._

_As you know our territories are susceptible to the oncoming hostilities from Bern. Inasmuch as I would rather not come to our decision as it is, I would like to inform you of departure of your fiancée, my daughter Priscilla, to Sacae for her safety, which shall take effect in a few days' time. I apologize for this inconvenience, but I would like to request that you put off your wedding until the war is over._

_Thank you for your Lordship's understanding._

_Sincerely,_

_Count Alfred, Marquess of Caerleon._

.oOo.

"How?" Wil stuttered. They were outside of the Arena.

"This is where Lord Eliwood sent me to," Nino clarified.

"And what, pray tell, were you doing in the Arena?" Mark scolded. "You know I never allowed you to go there!"

Nino's frowned. "I know! But you have to understand, Mark. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Finally!" Everyone turned to see Rebecca jump down from Lowen's horse.

"Well," Matthew said sheepishly as he gestured toward Mark. "Here he is."

Lowen nodded at Rebecca. "There has been a slight change of plans, but we need to go somewhere private for the details."

"And I know _just_ the place," Nino put in with a glint of her eye.

.oOo.

"Make yourselves at home. I'll be out in the market for a while," Nino's old guardian said hurriedly as she left the house. Everyone else settled around the dining table in the modest kitchen.

Nino spoke first. "So, what's the plan? And what are you guys doing here?"

"Nino," Rebecca started, looking concerned.

"Oh, right." Nino hung her head in disappointment and walked out the room.

Lowen cleared his throat. "Good to see you again Mark, but I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

Mark said nothing.

Lowen continued, "A few days after Matthew and Wil departed Lord Hector received a message from Bern requesting passage through our borders."

"So they could reach Etruria!" Guy whispered to himself.

"Their reply is due in a few weeks, and so Lords Hector and Eliwood have decided to send you to hide in Bern," Lowen finished.

"_Bern?_" Wil exclaimed, raising a chorus of shushes around him.

"But why Bern?" he whispered. "Wouldn't that make it worse for Lord Hector?"

"Yes," Rebecca replied uneasily.

"But right now, Bern is the safest. If by chance Lord Hector consents, then Lycia might be in danger of getting mixed up in the war, and the hostilities could also affect Ilia and Etruria," Lowen added.

"I'll go," Mark said silently.

"Very good, Mark," Lowen replied. "And another thing—don't mention our meeting to anyone, especially the news of Bern's request to cross the Lycian border. Panic could ensue."

"I understand. When will we leave?"

.oOo.

"Sacae," Priscilla mumbled, savoring the word in her tongue.

"Yes, dear. I'm sorry we have to put off your wedding with Lord Nicar," Her mother was saying. "We will send you along with a few servants to Sacae, where you will meet up with the mercenary group near the border."

Priscilla nodded slowly.

"Again, I'm sorry for this, but we have no other choice," her mother continued. "At least, in Sacae you will have some fresh air. Heaven knows how long you have been imprisoned here."

"I understand, Mother."

Marquioness Caerleon smiled and left her alone in her room. Priscilla's face brightened as she looked out of her window to the west.

.oOo.

"So, now what do we do?" Guy asked finally, still a bit overwhelmed that he was taken into this so suddenly.

"Wah!" That and the sound of something smashing broke his train of thought. Nino fell by the doorway.

"I," she began. "I couldn't help overhearing…"

"And?" Mark asked calmly.

"I don't know if you'll let me, but…"

"Well?" Rebecca prodded.

"I—please let me come with you!"

"Yes!" Rebecca said.

"No!" Mark said at the same time.

Nino's face fell. "Why not?"

"It's simply too dangerous," Mark answered with finality.

"Please, Mark," Rebecca entreated.

Guy stood up. "I'll take care of her."

"But I agree with Mark," Lowen interrupted. "There are too many people as it is."

"But guys," Nino pleaded. "I want to go to Bern. There's something I have to do."

"Lowen, can't we take her?" Rebecca shot him a very sad look.

Lowen took a deep breath. "You know it's better this way. Nino could get hurt."

"But if I don't train, how can I become stronger? Besides you guys might need some magical help. With enough experience I can heal you with staves," Nino pressed. "_Please._"

"No!" Mark snapped. "It's for your own good, Nino. You can go to Bern when the war is over—I won't stop you. But not now!"

"You said we have to be prepared at all times," Guy pointed out.

"Yeah! Are you really going to take back what you said?" Wil joined.

"We'll take care of her. We promise she won't be a burden," Matthew added.

Nino and Rebecca now looked at Mark with their most entreating eyes. Mark sighed. He was trapped. "All right. But on one condition."

"Anything!"

"Don't get into too much trouble. And Lowen, if it is all right?"

Rebecca had already given Lowen a bear hug, and the Paladin was only too happy to consent.

"To Bern!" Wil said enthusiastically.

.oOo.

"Bye-bye, Nino!" May yelled in the distance as Nino waved them back.

"Be careful now, Child!" her guardian called.

"Come back and play with us again, okay?" Colin waved a hat to her.

"I'll be back! I promise!" she said as they were soon gone from view. Then she turned to the rest of the party. "So, when will we get there?"

"In a week or so, I think," Rebecca answered. "In any case, we can spend time together again!"

"Uh huh!"

Guy looked behind him, marveling at the wide, grassy plains and the thick forests that grew beyond. Everything was so lush, so nourished by nature. Lord Hector shouldn't let the Bern troops pass. He shouldn't. Far beyond Lycia was Etruria, and he hoped against all hope that it would be spared from harm. How he wished he was beside her. At least to make sure that she is all right, but he knew with all the sorrow in his heart that they were divided by something more than the lands and the seas. It was decreed by man.

_But then…_

"Hey! Quit lagging behind!" Wil's cheery voice cut through the air.

"Coming!" He ran to his friends. They were all smiling and laughing.

"You are a Sacaen. Hold your head high." Mark startled him from behind.

"Uh, sure." He did as he was told.

"Nino wasn't supposed to come with us," Mark said silently.

"So why did you let her?"

"As much as I'd like to keep her confined and safe, it is not my place to do so."

"Why?"

"The thing a woman desires most is her will, her freedom."

_Then…_ He stared ahead as Mark walked away.

Priscilla is a willful woman.

.oOo.

Sorry it took so long to update this. You've gotta let a girl play her video games every once in a while, heheh. _Riviera: The Promised Land_ is a great game, after all. Anyways this story was mostly inspired by the novel, _Noli Me Tangere_, written by the Philippine national hero, Dr. Jose Rizal, and not to be confused with another book of the same name written by an European. You should try reading its English translation sometime. The book's pretty good, especially since it reveals the cruelty that comes with discrimination.

The whole "what a woman desires most is her will" thing came from a book, _King Arthur and His Knights_, adapted by Howard Pyle. In one part of the story a Knight-Conjuror had asked Arthur this riddle about what women desire the most. Strangely, I found a similar story in A. and C. Hieatt's adaptation of _The Canterbury Tales_. o.O

Nicar's name came from the word, "_Hnikarr_", a title for Odin meaning, "inflamer". Guess his character class.♪


	4. Clandestine Angels

It's great to finally update knowing that this was properly beta-read. (Thank you very much, **Lemurian-Girl**! n.n) Many thanks to the few who cared enough to review me! (I read them over and over again to get inspired. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate them!) XD Enjoy the story while I go learn some more Japanese and take an eyeful of _Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle_! To paraphrase the beloved Mokona Modoki: Pellea-chan is really excited!X3

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own _Fire Emblem_, and from the looks of things, I don't believe I ever will.

**Clandestine Angels**

Guy did nothing more than tell of how he was going to improve and become the greatest swordsman in all of Sacae. Matthew did nothing more than give a reluctant ear to these. Both had been inside the room that half the males shared at the inn. But for some reason, they became the unwilling targets for Mark's rebukes.

"I had remembered it quite _well_ gentlemen, how you said that you would watch Nino," Mark was saying in quiet frustration. "And so I ask you now, _how_ are you possibly going to watch over a young girl when she is nowhere to be found?"

"Relax, Mark," Matthew answered tiredly. "I'll go look for her, gladly." And so saying he left the room with a happy jump and a mind full of unwanted information on a certain swordsman's hopes and dreams.

Mark sighed and closed the door behind him. Moments later, Guy could hear Rebecca's sheepish voice tell Mark that she had forgotten to inform him of Nino's intentions to visit a cemetery outside the village.

_He worries too much_, Guy thought. At least Mark had hope to live a long life, _he_ on the other hand might not even leave a scratch on Master Karel before he became another memory for him. But Master Karel _did _say that he had the potential, and Guy knew very well that the only way potential will be made into something more was to practice. And so thinking Guy decided to leave the inn and ask questions around the village.

.oOo.

Nino looked wistful as she carried a nice bouquet of wildflowers she found by the wayside. The woody path was starting to clear, and a wide grassland fringed with low hills and dry ground came into view. Far beyond the stretch of soil and grass was a small church, sitting quietly amid some old briars and vines.

It was such a quaint little picture, and Nino was glad that they were buried in a peaceful place like this. She eagerly ran as fast as her legs could carry and finally found herself at the gate. Near it was a wooden pole with an old bell hanging from it. Nino tapped it lightly, and the clear tolling brought out an old Bishop from the church door.

"Good morning, Reverend," Nino called out. "I'm here to visit some graves."

"Well then, come in." The old man pulled the gate aside with a creak, and Nino walked solemnly over to the headstones, carefully scrutinizing each epitaph. She finally stopped at one and laid down half of her bouquet, then placed the rest on the headstone beside her. The Bishop went back inside. This was a common scene—it's best to leave her alone to pray and grieve.

"Lloyd, Linus," she murmured. "It's been so long."

.oOo.

_They're…they're coming. I have to…hurry…_ A bloodied man trudged past a low hill, holding an arrow-inflicted injury on his side. The blood from a close slash to the forehead trickled down his face, but he was thankful that it was starting to dry up. He didn't mind the pain so much—there were worse things. What was annoying is that his blood was staining his vision, and he couldn't see clearly enough with his mud-caked face. He almost cursed his heart for beating too fast, for pumping too much blood.

He blinked. _No_, he thought. _I can't sleep now…they need…_ His vision blurred, and his legs were ready to give way. Far behind him was the sound of horses' hooves, steadily approaching.

_Those cursed bounty hunters…_ He tried to run. A small church slowly came to sight. Not a good place to stop. The last thing he wanted to do was violate the sanctity of a church with his bloodstained hands. He had really changed, from heartlessly murdering fellow humans at his master's orders, to refusing to even defile a small country church. She would have been proud…

.oOo.

Nino looked up. She thought she heard a sound…horses, it seemed. She squinted into the distance and saw…

"_Jaffar?_ I can't believe it!" She watched the speck approach and was aghast at the Assassin's bloody condition.

"Jaffar!" she cried out in both excitement and disbelief. Her friend seemed to recognize her, as he sped up his pace and started towards her. Some distance behind him, Nino could see a small group of horsemen. She ran past the headstones and skipped over the low fence.

"Jaffar!" she shouted again, now concerned and afraid. _Why are they chasing him? Did he do something wrong? No, no. He couldn't have. Jaffar is different now._

"Jaffar! Watch out!" Nino pulled out a Fire Tome and gasped the words of the spell out. A small ball of fire appeared above her and shot right in front of the horsemen, who were, thankfully, chasing Jaffar on dry ground where the fire couldn't spread so easily. The horses reared, and the pursuers were stalled long enough for Jaffar to throw his uninjured arm and catch Nino by the waist. In the process, Nino dropped her Tome, only to see an arrow impale it.

Nino could only watch helplessly as she dangled from Jaffar's hold. He leapt forward, and she heard the hissing of another wave of arrows hitting the ground behind them.

Jaffar groaned a little, beads of sweat formed and mixed with the blood and dirt. Nino saw that he was severely injured, but he continued running. In doing so, Nino was swung a little in his grip, and she felt her shoe kick something long and thin. Jaffar drew his breath in sharply but didn't stop. Nino felt the color drain from her face. An arrow had hit him in the back of the knee.

.oOo.

Matthew thought nothing of it when a local Bern villager pointed to the direction of a grassy plain in response to his question about the missing Mage. He thought nothing of it when he realized that he was walking towards a church. Hmm, so the girl wants to see some dead people. And now he thought more seriously, thinking of his dead love. That Nino…

"Huh?" There was someone running towards him. The figure came closer, and Matthew realized that it was…Jaffar? And with _Nino?_ More figures came into view, and he instantly recognized them to be bounty hunters. But how did she…?

_Wait till Mark finds out_, he thought to himself, amused at the accuracy of Mark's worrywart prediction. But now, on to more serious matters—he must find some way to outsmart a group of bounty hunters, rescue the killer of his one and only love, keep a rather spirited young Mage from further trouble, _and_ survive Mark's reprimands later on.

Really, he was starting to wonder if listening to Guy babble about his swordplay wasn't such a bad thing after all.

.oOo.

"No, I _refuse_ to calm down," Mark said irritably. He was walking through the woods with Rebecca, intent on making sure that Nino stayed safe and out of trouble.

"Oh Mark, you can be such a worrywart sometimes," Rebecca responded heartily. There were times when she questioned Lord Eliwood's sanity for taking in such a pessimist as a Tactician. Still, he _did_ help them a great deal in saving the world, and it was interesting how things were managed, like his insistence that the Thieves and Jaffar should carry ropes with them at all times to make easier escapes. But what was talent compared to personality?

"Hmm?" She looked ahead. Matthew was running towards them, frantically waving his arms about.

Mark sighed. "We'll need some reinforcements."

Matthew nearly stumbled when he reached them. "Jaffar…and Nino," he gasped. "Bounty hunters!"

"Lend me one of your strongest ropes and go call the others," Mark ordered. "Rebecca and I will distract them."

Matthew nodded, handed Mark a length of rope, and raced past them.

Rebecca turned to Mark in disbelief. "_Distract them?_ Just the two of us?"

"Relax. You have your bow and arrows with you, right?"

Rebecca nodded slowly.

"Then," Mark continued. "You can defend yourself later on. But now…" He held out the rope. "I have an idea." He took one end and ran to a tree opposite of the path and wound it around the trunk. He returned to Rebecca and wound the other end loosely to a nearby tree. Once that was done, he quickly gathered some dry leaves and hid the rope from sight. Rebecca took the cue and went to hide on the other side of the path while holding her end of the rope.

"On my signal," he mouthed to her as a final instruction.

Moments later, Jaffar zipped past them. The horsemen soon came, and at once Mark shouted, "Now!" while pulling his end of the rope as hard as he could. The rope rose and tripped the horses at the front line, nearly dismounting their riders and blocking the rest behind them. But since the weight of the horses and their riders had placed tremendous pressure on the rope, both Mark and Rebecca were unfortunately dragged from their hiding places.

.oOo.

Nino strained to look behind her and was surprised at the scene behind them, but she smiled happily when she spotted Matthew, Wil, Lowen, and Guy running towards them. Behind this foursome was a small army of men—Snipers, in particular, with their bows ready to shoot. In front of them is a long-haired man who seemed to be their leader.

"Uncle Legault?"

Legault smiled cheerfully. "Sorry we came late, Jaffar. It was a good thing that Matthew here alerted us."

Jaffar gratefully ran down, but before reaching them, he collapsed, dropping Nino in the process.

"Jaffar!" She stood up and bent over him. The man had fainted from the loss of blood.

Mark and Rebecca were both stunned at this turn of events, and were unable to fully recover from it before having steel blades placed across their necks.

The bounty hunters stopped. There was no way they could beat so many people by themselves, and they highly doubted that it would be wise to kill off their allies. They frowned, but slowly drew back and rode off, no doubt vowing to come back and finish the job soon enough.

.oOo.

Priscilla sat, side-saddled on her mare as she and a handful of her servants and attendants rode around her. The sun was more or less warm and comfortable, but having to sit stiffly dignified and riding in that ridiculously haughty position was another matter entirely, but it was how a lady should ride, so she was told.

But by the grace of Saint Elimine, an old Cleric who served the house Caerleon, by the name of Martha, sensed this and spoke in a warm, feeble voice: "Milady, we are far from civilization. You needn't keep that posture."

Priscilla smiled a little and loosened a bit, moving her upper extremities to the side and thus easing her cramped waist. She delicately rested an arm on her mare's neck for support.

Martha's lips curved into a wrinkled smile. "There is still many a mile to go, milady. You would do well to keep comfortable."

Priscilla shifted a little. "Umm…yes, yes indeed."

Martha tilted her head to one side. "Is something amiss, milady?"

Priscilla blushed faintly. "It—it is nothing."

"Milady, if I may speak freely?"

Priscilla nodded dumbly.

Martha took a deep breath, her old eyes twinkling in nostalgia. "There was a time, milady, when I was young like you. And, like you, I had troubles concerning the matters of the heart."

Priscilla held back a gasp. "But I…"

"I can tell, milady," Martha continued, "that there is more than one reason why the gods chose to give you refuge in Sacae. And I can tell also, milady, that the word Sacae itself bears special meaning to you."

"In my youth I was also a gentle lady, filled bright hopes. I was a young girl from the villages, and he is a soldier's son, traveling the world to make his fortune. We fell in love."

.oOo.

Evening fell. Within a noisy bar, Legault, Guy, Mark, Matthew, Wil, and Lowen were all sitting together at a table, chatting amid the noise.

"But it has been a while, my friend. Surely you can forgive me for that," Legault said, amused.

"But to start another Black Fang and _head_ it?" Matthew said irately. "Haven't we had enough trouble from the original Black Fang?"

"My oh my, you can't seem to let go, can you? I may have severed my ties with the original Black Fang, but there is no reason for me not to start a new one. These are times of war."

"And Jaffar?"

"He's changed," Legault replied. "No doubt it's because of Nino."

"But why a new Black Fang?" Mark inquired thoughtfully. "What is the purpose of a covert organization? And to trust us with its secret, no less."

"Ah, but our new organization is only temporary. We formed this as a spy unit, to study both sides of the war, and we intend to stop it."

"What about Jaffar?"

Legault sighed. "We didn't expect the bounty hunters. He was supposed to gather information for us from Lycia. But now he is too wounded to speak."

"Lycia? What has happened?" Lowen demanded, altogether worried.

"But I'm sure you know already," Legault answered. "For now we are investigating Bern's activities, and we found out that King Desmond had sent messengers to Lord Hector, requesting passage to Etruria. Jaffar was an agent we sent to them."

"And you trust us?" Mark said rather doubtfully.

"Oh, I believe we can work together on this. I _know_ why you're here."

.oOo.

"But we couldn't speak of our love. Our village feared war, and he was skilled in combat. I couldn't speak freely. I couldn't tell him I love him.

"Neither did my parents approve. I was born and raised to be, as I am, a Cleric, devoting my life only to Saint Elimine. But they do not know that the gracious Saint would have approved.

"I prayed, begged, pleaded, to no avail. Seeing no other way, I was forced to keep silent, and he—he…left, thinking that I did not love him back. He once gave me this ring, milady, and up until now I still have it. But it is too late for me."

.oOo.

Guy remained almost oblivious to these things, but he sat through it silently. There was much to think about. Something upset him. Friendship, maybe, or was it something more? He remembered how close Lowen and Rebecca were. He remembered how worried Nino was of Jaffar. The latter may not be in love, but there was something special about it. They were _close_. Despite their differences, Lowen being a Knight of Pherae and Rebecca, a mere village chief's daughter; Jaffar being a cold Assassin and Nino, an unfortunate Mage…they all looked out for each other.

His friendship with Matthew and a growing closeness to Mark were good also, but… _No_, he couldn't have been thinking that maybe…

He sighed and pushed the thought away from his mind. She should be where she was, happy and safe, hopefully. But Mark wanted to keep it that way, he wanted to help end this before it reached Priscilla. And him? What was _he_ going to do but train for that fateful day when he would fight Master Karel?

He hadn't even thought much about marriage before his mother mentioned it. And to _think_ of marrying someone so out of reach!

He stood up, his chair creaking loudly as he did so, and excused himself from the table. The others watched him curiously as the door shut behind him.

There was hardly any wind tonight, and the moon was waning. The villagers were scarce on the streets, and the only source of noise seemed to come from the bar. He frowned a little and decided to walk back to the inn.

.oOo.

"Good night, Jaffar," Nino whispered as she slowly closed the door to his room. She had almost reached the room which she and Rebecca shared when Guy came.

"Oh, Guy! Please be quiet. Jaffar is resting."

Guy nodded. "Hey Nino…"

"Huh?"

"Aren't you afraid of him…being an old follower of Nergal?"

"Huh?" Nino shook her head. "Not at all. He's changed now, and even if he is still loyal to Nergal, he's still himself. No one can change that. Well," she opened the door to her room, "good night!" The door closed silently. Guy walked past a few more rooms and entered his.

Inside, the room was simply furnished, with a desk to one side bearing several sheets of blank parchment, an inkwell, and a small candlestick. He walked over to the desk.

_Wait!_ As if the candlelight provided some kind of projection, the scene before flashed in his mind. Jaffar running with all his might, Nino hanging helplessly from the crook of his elbow, and, bounty hunters behind them. They were wielding bows at that time, and if he wasn't mistaken, those horses were the ones tamed from the wild plains of Sacae, and their costumes…

Guy's eyes widened at the realization. Those bounty hunters were Sacaens! But why would they…?

He dipped the quill in the inkwell and started writing on a sheet of parchment.

.oOo.

"_I have lived a long life, it is more or less happy, but never truly blissful. Here, milady. I give this ring to you, in the hopes that you may never have to suffer as I did. Please give this old woman one last chance to see love blooming, milady. It is too late for me. Too late…"_

Priscilla looked over the Magic Ring on the palm of her hand as she stood by the bedroom window. Tomorrow they would finally be able to meet up with the Sacaen mercenaries. She held the ring tight and looked out.

There was only a sickle of the moon left. She held up the ring. It glowed faintly, making its own ring-like moon against the night sky.

No, this was not the time to wear it. Maybe, when she sees him again. They could break the cruel cycle that bound lovers for so long.

"Ah!" She examined the ring more closely. There was something…_missing_. It didn't look _complete_.

_It is an old ring, milady. Doubtless it has suffered much as I did_, the mournful voice crept up.

She yawned and placed the ring on her bedside, blowing out the candle as she did so, and then crawled to bed.

When the last flicker of light vanished from the candle, the ring showed an odd glint. The dying firelight flashed around the shiny metal, moving as in a circle.

.oOo.

Mark entered the room to find Guy sleeping on the desk, using a piece of thin parchment as a pillow. Clutched in his right hand was a quill, dotting the desk with its last remnants of ink.

He carefully looked over Guy's shoulder. There was writing on the parchment.

"_To Rath,_"

Mark shrugged indifferently, blew out a nearby candle, and went to sleep, only a bit surprised at knowing that his bodyguard was somewhat literate.

.oOo.

X3 I understand that they hang out at bars and towns too often. -.-; Ah well…the settings will probably be almost uniform (according to the outline I laid out, anyway), so please bear with me. I know the plot seems a bit slow, and to be honest, I'm pretty much itching to write an action scene, but somehow, my mind thought otherwise. O.o

I regret putting that pointless paragraph in Priscilla's last scene. -.-; Kyaah, I should be more careful of what I write.


	5. A Mask

Wee! Another chapter! This one will be shorter than usual, though I'm not sure why. -.-; I think I might have let the story control me, instead of the other way around. O.o Uh, never mind.

Special thanks goes to **Lemurian-Girl** for beta-reading this chapter.:)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Fire Emblem_ or that delightful Guy. All characters, settings, elements, whatever, belong to Intelligent Systems.

**A Mask**

"…_I had some tame freedom,_  
_On the miraculous night reflected in the mirror,_  
_My soul began to remove its mask…"_

--Sakai Mikio, _DNAngel_ opening theme "True Light"

.oOo.

Close to the border that separated Bern from Lycia at the northeast was a small town nestled quietly in a wide meadow, flanked by jagged mountains to its north. Cool brown waters trailed a winding path, passing an ailing temple to the south and curving west of the village. Forests were scattered in patches, with the thickest greenery at the base of the mountains. Fields, both grassy and golden, took up much of the land, save for the temple area. For a free spirited Sacaen, wide open spaces and rugged cliffs were home. However, this was not the case for Guy.

Presently, Guy sat alone in a small room, restlessly staring at the cracked walls and old furniture that was held within—a small table and a bed which creaked rather noisily whenever he sat down on it. He and the rest of their motley crew were taken in by Legault into the new Black Fang's headquarters, stationed underneath the old temple. Which meant that, to his vexation, Legault could not afford him the luxury of windows. He could, however, avail of the exit which was hidden under the temple's pulpit. But that knowledge merely added to his many woes, for every person was restricted from leaving through the furtive trapdoor without the permission of the doorkeeper, who, from having to sit by the egress for hours on end simply to receive and see off members of the Fang, was allowed half a day's rest. Legault had explained that, since their spies do their work at night, they will have to keep everyone either in or out during the day to ensure security.

Now, this was perfectly reasonable, and Guy would have tolerated it since they had quite a bit of adjusting to do after being made to live there. And there were only a few hours left until the doorkeeper would soon begin his shift. But for a free-spirited plainsman, having been bred on freedom and independence for most of his life, staying confined to a little windless space could bring about some discomfort.

.oOo.

"How are things?" Legault casually asked Mark. He pulled a rolled-up map from a nearby cubbyhole on his desk, all the while staring intently at the Tactician.

"Fine, mostly," Mark replied curtly. He scanned Legault's bookshelf and slipped out an old volume. "How is Jaffar?" he said finally, carefully flipping though the pages.

"Still recovering."

"And did he say anything?"

"I don't want to disturb him because of that. Unlike you, Mark, I find my soldiers to be more than a liability."

"A Tactician cannot afford to be soft in times like these. Hmm"—Mark frowned as he read a passage—"_The bane of the profession would be the dangers of harboring emotions. No matter what we feel, it must always be overshadowed._"

"As we spies hide in the dark," Legault added impassively, casting a sidelong glance at the perused _Art of War_.

.oOo.

Guy gratefully slipped out of the trapdoor and away from the pulpit. It was already late evening, and the moonlight shone through cracks in the windows and parts of the semi-collapsed roofing, giving the otherwise dark building an eerie look. Guy shuddered and went out.

The courtyard was small and littered with various broken furniture and creeping vines. Ahead of him was a town merrily lit, welcoming and comforting at the same time. The nearby strip of river flowed gently, curling around smooth pebbles. A lone poplar stood on the river's edge, leaves waving slightly to the cool wind.

He gazed into the river, every now and again catching the glimmer of fish from the corner of his eye. He stood there, now wondering what he should do once outside. There was no brazen sun, no passerby looking for a spar, no untamed scenery. All was quiet, save for the gentle murmur of the river and the low howling of the winds, flying through his fist as he pulled out his sword. The moonlight gave it a steady gleam, running straight and bending towards the curved tip.

"Do you want to spar, or are you just going to stare at your sword all night?" Guy turned to the source of the chiding voice. It was Legault, looking even darker and more concealed than he usually did, his dark cape swelling to the wind. Guy uttered a small prayer of thanks that it was not Jaffar who had decided to come out on this moonlit night.

He lowered his sword arm determinedly. "Let's spar."

"Good." Legault drew his twin knives and flipped them, sharpened tips facing Guy. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Guy planted his feet apart, pointed his scimitar away from Legault, and positioned his other hand over his sword arm. Legault stood there serenely. Guy shifted his weight to the front, and with a quick sprint, spread his arms wide, letting the curved edge to do its damage. Legault parried it with ease, sidestepping the nomad and raising a knife, intent on lowering it to his throat. Guy quickly recovered and turned to face him, raising his sword and reinforcing it with a balled fist to the curved edge, blocking the knife blow. Legault raised his other knife, and Guy forcibly threw himself back. Legault cut off his cape and threw it at Guy, catching him off guard. Once the nomad had removed it from his face cold steel threatened to slice through his neck. Guy gave a weak gulp in defeat.

Legault removed his weapon and chuckled. Guy sheathed his sword and gathered the fallen cape. He frowned upon having it in closer inspection, resenting the piece of cloth for thwarting him. He handed it to Legault, who muttered his thanks and draped it about his shoulders.

"Most people think that capes are just for show, and that they merely slow down a fighter." The wind shifted his cape as he spoke. "But it's more practical than you think."

Guy listened, but said nothing to save his wounded ego.

"It's late. While you Sacaens live for the sun, we Assassins rise for the moon. You have nothing to do in the dark, so you might as well sleep." He left.

Guy yawned, and felt his eyelids drop of their own accord. He gave a defiant glance at the moon, and staggered to the temple.

.oOo.

Morning dawned intrusively through the tent's opening, blinding the rather groggy Troubadour as she reluctantly opened her eyes. She pushed back the covers and sat up, rubbing her eyes as she did so. There were times when the wild sun and the untamed plains of Sacae pressed too hard onto her nerves.

Moments later, they were on the road once again. Priscilla's steward stated that it would only take about half a day's journey until they reach their destination—Bulgar. Once there, they would meet up with the hired mercenaries.

Priscilla sighed, inwardly exasperated. Though it has been a year since she had last traveled, nevertheless, she is a sheltered noblewoman, unused to the fiery heat and starkness and men, of which were unquestionably expected.

She blinked from the sunshine reflected on Martha's ring, moved her hand away from the glaring light, and tried to squint ahead.

.oOo.

Matthew felt his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He clutched at it with his left hand while his right rested on the hilt of his dagger. He leaned against the wall, cold sweat breaking out in spite of his attempts to keep calm. Beside him was the door to Jaffar's room, where the Assassin still lay wounded and sleeping. He managed to heave out a sigh. He was still unsure of what to do. The irony of the situation was the fact that he was attempting this in broad daylight, but most of Legault's men were already out.

He never had a chance to talk to Jaffar before, and ever since he heard it whispered that it was _he_ who had killed Leila, Matthew hadn't given up his thoughts of revenge. During their last campaign Matthew had decided to put it off for the sake of finishing this mission, and for the sake of Leila. That and he knew that it was extremely dangerous to try and kill an Assassin and one of the former Four Fangs. But now felt like a good time to enact vengeance. Jaffar lay wounded, the corridors were mostly empty, and the others trust him enough not to suspect him. Just one stab…

He blew out the torch from a nearby bracket while drawing his knife, and salty water soon trickled down the peerless metal. He silently pushed the door open, his hand trembling violently as he did so. Inside the room, he could see that Jaffar lay in his cot, asleep. There were no other furniture save for a side table that held a burnt-out candle. Perfect. Murders were easier to do in the dark, when one wouldn't be able to see the face of the victim in that short moment when the soul departs from flesh. The thought of Jaffar rolling his eyes back as he died was somewhat unnerving to Matthew, but he pushed it and all other logic aside as he raised the dagger over the Assassin's heart.

"Uh…"

Matthew drew his breath in sharply, alarmed by the noise. He still held the dagger over Jaffar, and the darkness hid his terrified stare and violently shaking body.

"Unh…_ah…_"

Matthew brought the dagger to his side and slowly took a step back. He already had difficulty trying to steady his breathing before, but now it all came in ragged gasps.

"Ah…ambass…"

Matthew sheathed his dagger, common sense urging him to flee, curiosity rooting him to his spot.

"Ambassadors…Bern…Matthew…"

Matthew now realized that Jaffar was awake, even in the absence of light. How long he had been awake he couldn't tell. The cot creaked as Matthew heard him try to sit up.

"Matthew…tell Legault…" Jaffar managed. "B—Bern is going to send ambassadors to Lycia for an answer." He groaned after he said that, and another creak confirmed that Jaffar had sunk his head back onto the pillow.

Matthew stood transfixed for a while. But it dawned on him that he could still do what he came here to do, judging by Jaffar's steady breathing.

_Leila…_ Somehow, he found it in himself to turn and run from the room, his heart beating mercilessly.

He dashed through the corridor. Thankfully, there was no one there. No one to see his tears run down his face or hear his desperate, heaving gasps.

.oOo.

There were times when Mark felt that he could be kinder—at least, even a bit. He could use some company; sitting alone in the den did nothing to alleviate his loneliness. Why, even the stone-cold Jaffar had Nino and Legault to watch over him, while the only person he was truly close with was far beyond the borders.

A Tactician, he knew, worked alone unless apprenticed. But even then such a relationship was strictly professional—as in any line of work involving the intricacies of war—since it would do no good to think that anyone you will come across will one day lie dead on the battlefield.

He sighed, wondering what would have happened if he had been less calculating in choosing a master. He shook his head. N o, that won't do. Back then he was weighing the pros and cons of each profession he was considering—which would pay more, which would be more appropriate to use his acquired studies as a child, which would benefit him in the long run…

He could have been a musician, maybe a scholar, or even a Mage, perhaps. But no matter how much he had studied as a child, no matter how shrewd he was then in selecting a master, no matter how little he was paid prior to joining Eliwood's campaign—he resolved, two years ago, to never regret being a Tactician.

A flurry of footsteps interrupted the initial quiet of the room. Mark raised his eyebrows only a bit when he saw Matthew enter, looking flustered. When Matthew saw Mark he immediately changed his expression, smiling lightly as he passed him.

Mark stood up once he was gone. Matthew looked a bit pale, and he could see that the Thief had tried to control his trembling when he ran in. He frowned, wondering why Matthew would be in a hurry.

.oOo.

By late evening, Priscilla had already settled into her _ger_, out in the open plains, with her new mercenary bodyguards led by, to her surprise, Rath. Lyn was also with them, bearing news of Lycia for the long isolated maiden, the main one being that Lyn had abdicated the Caelin throne following her grandfather's death.

"A message?" Lyn said from outside. Priscilla inched closer to the _ger's_ entrance.

"Mm." Priscilla listened as Rath unrolled a piece of parchment.

"From Guy! What does it say?" Lyn pressed. A shuffling and a pause, then: "So he's in Bern with the others. I never would have guessed that he ended up working with Mark again. But Rath, if what he says is true—and I have no doubt that it is—shouldn't we do something to help them?"

"No. It is more dangerous if we go. They will have to be careful."

Lyn sighed. "You're right. But I'm still worried though…"

Priscilla waited until their footsteps had faded. She slowly went outside. Everyone else had settled down. _Gers_ and tents were arranged sporadically throughout the campsite. Behind the tents bearing the device of Caerleon was a small fire surrounded by her attendants, animatedly chatting away the night. A noise, muffled from the _gers_, indicated that some of the mercenaries were engaged in a heated mock battle.

Priscilla knew, that if she had meandered through all of the campsite, no one would give her a second glance. Her attendants would simply chat their time away, forgetting that they serve an aristocrat. The mercenaries would dismiss her as another upper crust who holds her head too high for them cut down. The fact that she was a noblewoman should have been enough to gain her some notice, but it is her reserved and modest behavior that hides her so well, even in broad daylight.

Any difficulty could only be considered relative, for each person suffered very differently. A curse is a curse if its owner wills it as such. Priscilla had to live with her accursed modesty all her life. But there were times when curses, to a different viewpoint, can become a blessing, but only if the events shift in one's favor.

Priscilla scanned her surroundings. Soon, everyone would have gone to sleep. She knew her horse was perfectly rested. She stared at Martha's ring, watching the moonlight spill into the gem. There was no doubt now.

.oOo.

Indeed, one could learn to tolerate, even enjoy, the calming effects of walking by moonlight. Guy, in all his unobtrusive maleness, had to admit that he was starting to like the nights. It was a mask, after all, simply another face of day.

By nature, he was neither violent nor severe, neither heated nor wild. But his swordplay was swift and strong, and easily readable. Whereas he could form all the stances he wanted, there will always be a counter, a gentle one, given an observant foe.

He sighed contentedly, head rested against the palms of his hands, back arched to the poplar's slight curve. He lazily watched the fish dart quickly in the water, and closed his eyes.

.oOo.

The mare whinnied softly, annoyed by her mistress's strapping the saddle onto her in the middle of the night. Priscilla shushed her, and soothingly stroked her tawny mane. She secured her knapsack to the horse and silently positioned herself on it.

She looked at the tents and _gers_ around her. The moonlight gave a particularly unnatural sheen to the rounded huts, and the wood fire from earlier was now a black, smoldering pile. Nothing else stirred.

She gripped the reins, urged her mare to trot silently out of the campsite. When they had reached a good distance away, she ordered her palfrey with a "_hya!_" and galloped off into the night. The Sacaens might be good trackers, but they won't have an easy time, she was sure. The flatlands were fairly hard ground, good for riding, and so long as the horse moves lightly, shoeprints wouldn't be that visible. There were no trees to hinder their path or to break off, no fallen bramble to indicate her passing, and a great open space would ensure that it will be near to impossible to determine her exact direction. And even if they _did_ manage to find any shoeprints, they would be long gone, hidden by bustling towns and rough mountains.

And best of all, they didn't know where she will be going, and that will increase her chances of reaching Bern. She rubbed the surface of Martha's ring, as if it will give her luck. In a few hours the sun will dawn, and she will welcome it—with another face.

.oOo.

I know a lot of people dislike Priscilla, and I can understand that. But you do know that she had enough spunk to run away the first time, and I can assure you, she will grow out of it soon enough.


	6. Eclipse

Pardon for the late update…again. Phooey, I should be more punctual with these things.-.-; At least, summer vacation is just around the corner…

And, as usual, a big thank you goes to my dear, dear reviewers, and also to my beta, **Lemurian-Girl**.

**Disclaimer:** _Fire Emblem_ is, as usual, not mine.

**Eclipse**

It was market day in Araphen. Raven found himself jostling against the crowds in an attempt at freedom. The housewives were milling about, buying this ware and that, and he had half a mind to walk up to those pesky merchants and teach them a lesson in blood. He kept reminding himself that he would've skirted the town if he didn't have to see a blacksmith for a new sword, but he needed to defend himself against those equally pesky bandits prowling the countryside.

A merchant declared that he sold exotic finery—only the very best fabric! Several ladies in the crowd nearly trampled Raven on their way over.

_Hmph. _Those scrupulous merchants were always trying to get the best of the masses. Those overpriced fabrics resembled the material of the old curtains back at Cornwell. For all he knew they could have salvaged them from his old home and passed them off as fine silk, or…

_From the very house of the disgraced nobles, my dear woman! This should be priced even higher, but since you've been _such_ a wonderful buyer…_ It made him sick to think about it. He kept telling himself again and again that it didn't matter to him anymore. He had left his past behind, and was trying to live his own life, wandering and fighting.

The stench of sweat and mud pressed thickly against his senses. He struggled past the crowd, his hand clutching his new sword defensively as he felt more people push at him. He found an opening in the mob, and managed to drag himself into a dark alleyway. He would've taken a deep breath at his freedom, if it weren't for the smell of garbage and feces. He stood by the wall, watching the townsfolk pass by as he planned his escape. It didn't take him long to notice that he wasn't alone.

A tall, lean figure stepped into the shadows and silently walked past him. Raven looked up and instantly recognized the stranger. He remembered seeing Lucius talk to him and hearing gossip about his prowess in battle.

"Karel," he confirmed, casting his gaze in the direction of the Swordmaster.

Karel paused, turning his head slightly. "Raven," he said disinterestedly.

Raven hadn't heard anything of his former comrades in a while and let his curiosity get the better of him. "Good to see you here."

Karel turned and faced him fully, his eye resting on the Hero's sword. "I've had some fights." He didn't elaborate.

Raven felt a sudden chill. Today was a market day. The streets were filled with more-or-less innocent townspeople—nary a fight-happy mercenary in sight, except for himself. What was this reputed demon _doing_ here? "Clearly, this is not a place for sword fighting," he said carefully.

"I'm here on business," Karel said simply. He turned and strode down the alley. Raven followed.

The alleyway opened up to a cramped section closed in by the walls. Shanties and run-down buildings were either squeezed beside each other, or stacked precariously on top of one another. The latter arrangement blocked out most of the afternoon sunlight. Dirty children peeked out from the small windows and from behind piles of garbage. A drunken beggar staggered past them. Starving dogs whimpered at them, too weak to bark. An old woman held up a withered hand, silently begging for alms. An abominable stench hung in the air.

Karel didn't seem to mind any of these, as he strode impassively along. Raven wondered what kind of business the former would be dealing in a place like this.

"Master Karel?" croaked a thin little man. He was dressed in rags, which hung loosely from his impressively skinny body, but his eyes shone with such vigor and slyness that it was almost haunting. Karel stopped.

"A message," the little tramp said, looking suspiciously at Raven. Karel waved him off.

"He knows nothing."

"You will deal with them when the time comes," the stranger responded. "But for now, I charge a small fee for my services," he said, a wily twinkle in his eye, as he held up his hand.

Karel remained indifferent. "I was not told to pay for their messengers." He proceeded to walk away.

The messenger cursed under his breath. "Wait!"

"Now, what?" Karel stared at him expectantly.

"They have left Lycia, and one of the Fang has escaped from us."

"It doesn't matter. Now, be gone." The tramp scampered away.

_The Fang._ Something wasn't right.

"Still here?" Karel commented dryly. "I suppose it doesn't matter." He turned to leave.

"Wait." Raven's hand flew over his shoulder. Karel turned to see Raven's eyes glow dangerously.

"Something's wrong." Raven gazed at him intently. "Who was that?"

"It is none of your concern."

"It sounded like you've kidnapped someone," Raven added, surprised at himself. What was he doing, intruding on someone else's private business? It must be Lucius's influence.

"_They_ have not kidnapped anyone," Karel said flatly. He shrugged Raven's hand off.

"Who are _they?_" Raven's hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

"Fool," Karel muttered as he sized his companion up. "I spared you because you were once a comrade. But if you insist on having your blood stain Araphen…" He drew out his sword.

"So it's come to this." Raven drew his weapon and raised it forward. The blade gleamed under the minimal sunlight.

"Stop!" A hand flew up to his face.

"_Tch._" Karel lowered his weapon. "You shouldn't interfere, Lucius."

"What are you doing here?" Raven demanded, sheathing his broadsword.

"Trying to keep you two from doing something you'll both regret," the Bishop answered. "I though you had changed!" He gave them scolding looks.

Karel looked away. "Fools," he said once again as he left, eyeing Raven darkly. It was then that Raven noticed the children clinging to Lucius. They were the same ones who had peeked out at them earlier.

"The children led me here," Lucius explained, as if he read his mind.

Raven sighed. "I don't know if that was a good thing."

"We should go back to the orphanage." Lucius lifted a little girl up and held her close. "Come." He walked towards a narrow street, the rest of the children trailing behind. Raven shrugged resignedly and followed.

.oOo.

The orphanage smelled a little better, since it stood at a corner close to Araphen's central marketplace, with rickety hovels balancing themselves behind the less-dilapidated building. Raven was told to sit on a stool on one side of the room while the orphanage's housekeepers, a pair of old maids, fussed over the children and over him. The rooms weren't airy, but Raven found that he could breathe easier here, even if the occasional smell of excrement wafted up his nose.

"You'll get used to it," a particularly bold little urchin informed him.

Lucius lectured the children on not playing near the hovels the next time, and the housekeepers herded them away. He sighed, and sat down on a stool opposite Raven's. Neither spoke for some time.

"The war has been getting out of hand," Lucius said finally. "Everyone has become testy."

"You don't say," Raven scoffed. He decided to change the subject. "How are the others?"

"I only know so much since I came here." Lucius sighed. "It's no good, between raising funds for the orphanage and trying to keep the housekeepers on hand. At least," he smiled sincerely. "At least you are doing well, Lord Raven."

"I'm no longer your lord, Lucius. To you, I'm just Raven."

"What were you and Master Karel doing out there?"

Raven narrated the story to a wide-eyed Lucius. When he finished, Lucius stood up and closed the windows. He looked grave as he sat down.

"I have heard," he began. "That Lycia has been…unstable, as of late. Bern seeks passage to Etruria, and I'm not sure how the Lord Hector will react to it. I don't know what we'll do."

"Something strange is going on," Raven said, looking thoughtful. "Despite the tension, Araphen is filled with people. Wouldn't they have all fled to safety, by now? And so far, both countries still stand. It's as if they don't _try_ to destroy one another."

"The merchants probably want to sell out all their goods while they still can," Lucius replied. "And the people," he sighed. "The people have no choice but to stay. Either they die in their homeland, or get raided by bandits on their way out."

Raven nodded. The brigands' activities have increased—a consequence of the war, and the reason why he had insisted on getting a new weapon. They wanted to survive as much as the average folk do. "So, what will you do now?"

Lucius smiled softly. "Pray."

.oOo.

On this sweltering morning, Guy strode to the village, intent on hearing news about Sacae. Though Legault's unit was more reliable in the way of delivering and receiving messages, he didn't want to trouble the former and had decided to take in whatever news he could get from passing mercenaries. He was sure that the town—however small—was visited by adventurers on a daily basis, war or no war. Besides, he had seemed tense these past few weeks, and he could even hear Mark muttering something about ambassadors and Lycia. No doubt it was more bad news.

It was already late in the morning, and the sun bathed the townsfolk in sweat. Pink-faced matrons dizzy with heat hurried with their shopping, trying their best to get into any shaded area. Farmers strode wearily to the fields, their faces already drawn and flushed from the humidity. In spite of the weather, the women talked incessantly, and he could hear peddlers barking their wares from their stalls. Loud clanging echoed from the local smithy. Children, unmindful of the heat, wove their way around the villagers' legs, playing and laughing.

"Filthy barbarian—_out of my way!_"

"Wait! Please, don't—!" Something crashed. "Aah! Help!"

A crowd gathered thickly near the tavern. Guy asked a passing merchant what was the matter.

"Some drunken axe-fighter," the man replied as he went on his way.

Guy pushed himself past the mob, ignoring the townspeople's whispers of him being a Sacaen. "You don't want to go in there, son," an old man cautioned him. "It seems that he dislikes Sacaens."

Guy thanked him, but not before he heard something breaking. He made his way further in, hoping that the poor Sacaen's bones weren't the ones broken.

"Blacksmithing?" he heard who was presumably the axe-fighter say. "What do _you_ savages know of making weapons?" he shouted.

Guy had to stand on tiptoe to see a large, red-faced Warrior holding up a young Sacaen man with a stature not unlike Guy's own by the collar. Incensed, Guy shoved the rest of the way over and yelled, "_Stop!_"

Everyone fell silent. The Warrior turned to squint at him, his eyes bloodshot. He dropped his victim and lumbered towards Guy, who had realized that the bully in question easily blocked out the sun as he came nearer. The villagers dispersed, trying to get as far away as possible without sacrificing a good view of the inevitable thrashing.

The Warrior loomed before him, smelling heavily of beer and sweat. A glance behind him showed that the bullied young man was nursing a nosebleed. Guy clenched his fists as he glared up at the offender, who glared back.

"Another savage, eh?" he boomed, his bloodshot eyes bulging with frenzied rage. "Another one of those scum from Sacae!" He snatched Guy up by the collar, lifting him clean off the ground. Guy tried his best not to flinch.

"No! Please leave him alone!" the other Sacaen pleaded as he stood up weakly. "It's me you're mad at!"

"_QUIET!_" roared the Warrior with a voice that seemed to knock the skinny man over. He turned his attention back to Guy.

"You coward," Guy managed. The Warrior's grip Ichoked him. "You _coward!_" he said again, with more conviction. "What has this man ever done to you?"

"You _barbarian!_" the bully thundered back. "Do you _know_ who I am? I am Haga, the Giant!" He threw the Swordsmaster to the ground. Guy rubbed at his neck as he stood up.

"You have no right to call anyone a barbarian if you yourself act barbaric!" Guy seethed, completely forgetting that it was utterly stupid to provoke a drunken man.

"_Rraaghh!_" Haga cried out angrily, raising his axe up high. "_Die!_"

Someone screamed as the axe came down. Guy rolled away, unsheathing his Killing Edge as he did so. Haga plucked his axe off the ground and lunged at him. By this time the crowd had taken to running and hiding in the houses nearby.

Now Guy realized that he was in a fix. First, that giant could easily overpower him with his strength, even if Axes _did_ lose to Swords, and second, he had no intention of killing anyone.

If only Haga had also shared his sentiments. "You savage! I can break you in half with my bare hands!"

Guy had no doubt about that claim. "If you can catch me, you ogre!" he taunted, trying to hide his panic. Haga growled, furiously swiping his axe this way and that, until he had Guy trapped between a stack of barrels and a stone wall. He would have chopped the Sacaen's head off if the latter didn't scramble up the barrels in time. Guy kicked the topmost one down at Haga as he leapt to the other side. Haga hacked at it, and was drenched in ale. Furious, he lifted a barrel and hurled it at Guy, who leapt out of the way and landed on his stomach. Ale spilled on the ground, and Guy kept slipping as he tried to stand up. Haga placed a heavy foot on his back.

"You're mine, you filthy whelp!" He raised his axe for the final blow.

"Go to sleep, you—you _beast!_" someone cried. Haga stopped, as if in a trance, and slowly lowered his hand. He swayed, blinking drowsily, until he fell over forward, snoring. Guy crawled out of the Warrior's leg, trying to get his wind back. Trying, because Haga was heavy and he felt lightheaded.

"Are you all right?" The Sacaen from earlier ran over to him. "Hey—hey! Can you stand up?"

"Is he injured?" A girl came and knelt beside him. "Guy, are you all right?" She held up her hand.

"Thank you," Guy said groggily as he took it and stood up. He did a double take. "You!" He fainted.

.oOo.

"Guy."

He sat up on the bed, rubbing his temples as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

"Um…"

He realized that Priscilla was sitting at his bedside. He shook his head, gradually remembered that he had seen her earlier that day, after Haga had mysteriously fallen asleep.

"I, um, I might have accidentally hit you with the Sleep spell that I had placed on that giant," Priscilla said slowly, eyeing him anxiously. "I'm sorry."

"No, no. It was all my fault," he assured her. "I went too far." He looked across the room. "But, where are we?"

"Inside an inn," she replied, smiling.

Guy sat on the edge of the bed. "And what are you doing here?"

Priscilla blushed. "I'm—"

"Am I interrupting something?" A young man whom Guy recognized as the bullied Sacaen entered the room. He stopped. "I'm sorry. I should have knocked first."

"No, it's fine." Priscilla motioned for him to sit down on a stool next to her.

He took the seat and gave Guy a friendly smile. "My name is Cliff, and thanks for the help. I owe you."

"No need. We Sacaens should help each other, no matter what." Guy smiled back. "By the way, I'm Guy."

"Oh, I know already. Priscilla here told me. Do you know each other?"

"Yes. We used to"—he looked at the girl, who was fidgeting in her seat, and guessed that she'd rather not let anyone know about their old campaign—"we used to know each other."

Thankfully, Cliff nodded and said nothing more.

"So, Cliff," Guy started. "What brings you to Bern?"

Cliff grinned proudly. "I'm a blacksmith's apprentice. My master sent me to travel and observe the weapons that Bern's people used, so that I can learn from their designs and forge a proper weapon. That's what got me into this mess."

"No, it wasn't," Priscilla told him. "The townspeople said you only went to the tavern to find some mercenaries. You did nothing wrong."

"But that Haga did," Guy said plainly. "Why did he attack you?"

Cliff smiled sadly. "He was drunk, and I guess he didn't like Sacaens." He shrugged. "What about you? What are you two doing here?"

Priscilla bowed her head. "Um, just traveling."

"I wanted some news about Sacae," Guy said, careful not to say anything more. "How is it holding up in the war?"

Cliff sighed. "Your guess is as good as mine. I live with my master in Etruria, when I'm not traveling."

Something bothered Guy. "Your master," he hesitated, "is he good to you?"

"He's strict, but yes. He's been kind."

"No," Guy said. "I mean, does he approve of you becoming a blacksmith?"

"Oh." He nodded, understanding. "He isn't prejudiced at all—he's a Sacaen, you see. Well," he stood up. "It's been a pleasure, but I have to go now. I still have work to do, if you can call it that." He made a face. "I'll see you." The door shut behind him.

Guy looked at Priscilla, opened his mouth as if to say something, then decided against it. He stood up. "I have to leave, too."

She nodded understandingly, though her emotions were in turmoil. For the first time since she left Sacae, the whole idea of coming from nowhere to seek him out at random became utterly stupid. She sighed sadly as Guy left.

.oOo.

Guy leapt down the trapdoor just in time to see a band of Thieves hurrying towards the exit, but thought nothing of it. They were spies, after all.

"Where have you been?" Rebecca said urgently, grabbing him by the arm. "We've been looking all over for you!"

"What? Why?"

"We have to hurry! We only have a few hours left!" She led him down a hallway.

Guy frowned. "A few hours left for what?"

"Oh." She stopped. "You didn't know? Silly me, of course you didn't! Do you remember those bounty hunters who came after Jaffar?

"Yes."

"Well, they have friends."

Mark entered the hall. "Hurry up."

"Mark, I'm only going to be in your service for a few days more. Why should I be involved?" Guy protested.

"It's for your own good," Mark said matter-of-factly. "Whether or not you like it, those Sacaens spotted you, along with us. It was careless of Legault to show his face like that."

"You wound me, old friend," Legault chided, appearing from a doorway. He threw a rolled-up cape at Guy.

Guy caught it. "What's this for?" He tried not to sound agitated at the sudden turn of events.

"It's a disguise—not to mention one of my best capes. Use it well."

"But what about Jaffar?"

"We'll take him with us—in any case, he's well enough to stand. Now, hurry!"

.oOo.

By midnight, they emerged from the pulpit, the last ones to go. Jaffar lumbered weakly, with Legault as his support.

"Wait," Rebecca whispered in the darkness. "What about Lowen's horse?"

"It's in the town," Legault answered. "No use bringing it with us—it will attract too much attention."

"Eek!' It was Nino.

"_What is it?_" Mark hissed fiercely, coming up to Nino. He heard a horse whinny.

"Um, Guy?" a voice said timidly.

Guy scrambled over. "Priscilla?"

"Ah! You scared me!" Nino said. "Why didn't you say something?"

"More importantly," Mark broke in. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Well, um, I—that is—I heard from Lyn that you were in trouble, and I—"

"That's enough," Lowen said gently. "We have to leave now. Thank you for your concern, but we will do fine on our own." He paused. "How did you get here, anyway?"

"On horseback, from Sacae."

"_Sacae?_"

"Wow Priscilla, I didn't know you had it in you," Wil chimed in.

"But, we have to leave now," Legault interrupted. He turned to Priscilla. "Don't you have someplace to go to?"

"No, not really," Priscilla mumbled. "But I would like to come with you, if that's all right."

"I'm sorry, but it's too dangerous," Lowen said as he went outside. "Dame Priscilla?"

"Yes?"

"How did my steed get here?"

"Oh!" She ran outside. "I thought it looked familiar, so I took him out along with my horse."

"Er, thank you." He motioned for Legault to come closer. "Jaffar can ride on my horse, then. Steady now…"

Jaffar grunted as he painstakingly hoisted himself up.

Guy led Priscilla aside. "Why are you here?"

She looked away. "Well, um, do you remember that Warrior from this morning?"

"I do."

"He's looking for you."

"That's not good," Legault put in, surprising the both of them. "My oh my, what have you gotten yourself into this time, Guy? Well, in that case, we'll have to come up with new disguises other than our standard hooded cloaks."

"He's right," Mark agreed, throwing off his cloak. "If Priscilla can recognize us in the dark, then there's no telling who else might."

"We could pretend to be her escorts," Rebecca suggested. "Priscilla looks like a real noblewoman, anyway. We only need to freshen ourselves up, and then we won't even get a second glance." She turned to Priscilla. "Will you let us?"

Priscilla swallowed at the idea, forgetting that only Erk, Raven, Lucius, and Oswin had known about her status. She exhaled deeply and smiled. "Of course." Not that she'd like having the attention redirected at her, when the time came, but at least…

"Great! We'll just be a bit, then." Rebecca reentered the trapdoor.

"I'm impressed," Mark commented, smiling. "I suppose it's settled. Legault?"

The Assassin shrugged. "Fine with me. This should be interesting."

.oOo.

Ah, yes. I think I'm starting to deviate from the outline I had prepared. Ooh, I hope I get those inevitable plot holes covered up soon.X(


End file.
